


The Downside

by Keith_Wilde



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical swearing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ian loves Mickey, M/M, Ouch, Post-Season/Series 10, Probably the only Gallavich fic I'll ever write that isn't smutty, Whump, hospital fic, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23470198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keith_Wilde/pseuds/Keith_Wilde
Summary: Eventually in the next season, we're going to have to deal with Terry coming after Mickey, and this is how I think it should go.Good old-fashioned whump because it feels good to see Ian care for Mickey for a change. Title is from "The Luck You Got" by The High Strung, aka the Shameless theme song.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Carl Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher & Sandy Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & Everyone, Mickey Milkovich & Terry Milkovich
Comments: 21
Kudos: 262





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! Chapter Two will be longer. It's already written, so it'll probably be up tomorrow. I hope you like it and also that you love these fucked-up, broken, adorable boys as much as I do. Thanks for reading!

It was shocking, but not surprising, when it finally happened. 

Ian knew he shouldn’t have been caught off guard. It was all but guaranteed that Terry was going to come for Mickey at some point. But somehow, he’d had a hard time believing that anything could really happen to him. His Mick was indestructible. He’d shaken off hits that would have any other man hitting the floor. He’d survived bullets, pistol whippings, prison, escaping prison, Mexican drug cartels, ratting on Mexican drug cartels--nobody could keep Mickey Milkovich down.

Until Terry did. 

Ian was halfway across town when he got the call. He could have taken the L, but he knew he couldn’t stand still long enough to wait for one, and besides, he trusted himself more than the ever-delayed buckets of rust. He sprinted the whole way to the hospital. He wasn’t sure if it really wasn’t that far, or if he was performing one of those superhuman feats they say people are capable of when their loved ones are threatened; it didn’t fucking matter. He showed up, panting, in the waiting room, not stopping long enough to breathe, let alone cry. He strode past nurses and police and straight to Sandy. He didn’t have time for legal bullshit. When Sandy reached out to him he shrugged her off, too; he didn’t have time for that, either. 

“Where is he?”

“Surgery.” She said, pretending the liner under her eyes wasn’t smudging. “We might not know how he is for hours.” 

“But he’s--”

“Alive, yeah. He’s alive.” 

“Oh, Christ.” Ian felt his knees give way under him, relief and terror hitting him like a rushing subway car. 

“Jesus, Ian,” Sandy said, sitting him down in one of the plastic-cushioned waiting room chairs. “Did you run here?” 

“I just never thought that something like this would happen,” Ian said, ignoring her. “Not for fucking real. I mean, I always knew Terry was a psycho, and I guess I knew he was serious but this--and Mickey--he--” 

“I know. The little bastard is a tank. It’s hard to imagine anything actually happening to him.”

“What happened, Sandy?” 

Ian’s heart nearly stopped when she didn’t answer.

“Sandy.” 

“Don’t know for sure. Mickey wasn’t exactly ready to give his side of the story when we found him.” The knowledge of what she wasn’t saying there--that Mickey was fucked up beyond words, probably unconscious, maybe half-dead--turned Ian’s stomach into ice. “But we’re pretty sure it was Terry and his nazis. We know there were at least six of them.” Sandy gave a bitter chuckle and looked away. “It was the only thing Mickey said, in the ambulance when they were loading him up with drugs. ‘Took six guys to keep me down,’ all doped up and proud. Bitch wouldn’t shut up about it.” She got quiet again. “Til he passed out again.”

“I’ll kill Terry, Sandy. I’ll fucking kill him.” 

“I know you will.” She reached out, clasped his shaking hands. “And we will rip that piece of shit limb from limb. Swear to God. Not now, though.” Ian looked up.

“What now, then?” 

“Now, we wait.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lip is a real good brother.

Waiting in the emergency room wasn’t new to the Gallaghers. There was protocol, a routine, a knowledge of what to do that was useful, if kind of sickening. They left the kids with Kev and V; Carl was sent on a food run; Debbie and Sandy ran home to get some things for Mickey and some clothes for Ian; Lip was on Keep Ian From Going Back to Jail Duty. Of course, if there had ever been a way to keep a Gallagher from doing what they wanted, Lip had yet to see it in his 20-some years. But damn if he wasn’t going to try. 

Lip had done this enough times to know that this was bad. The fact that they were in the hospital at all told him that much. Most fights were capped with a bag of frozen peas, a checkup from V, and a chorus of “rub some dirt in it.” No, this wasn’t a fight. It was a hit. 

Lip didn’t even fucking like Mickey most of the time, but family was family and he had wormed his way in, sure as shit. That didn’t count for nothing. The Gallaghers had been through a lot, but it wasn’t since Monica that they’d lost one of their own. Lip wondered if Ian was thinking about her, about the last time they’d been in an emergency room and the news they’d gotten that day. He wouldn’t be crazy for being afraid he’d hear the same thing: couldn’t be revived. 

“Hey.” Lip reached over, gently shaking Ian’s knee, the one that wasn’t bouncing. Ian looked up, startled out of the revenge fantasy he had been nursing. 

“What? What’s wrong? Did I miss something?” 

“Slow down, killer. I was just gonna ask if you wanted anything. Coffee, a cigarette. I mean, I know it's shitty hospital coffee, but it's better than nothing, right?” 

“Um,” Ian sat back, ran a hand through his hair as if this was the first time he’d thought about how he was feeling all day. “Coffee would be nice. I could use a pack of Camels.” 

“Why don’t you come smoke one with me, huh? Stretch your legs a little?” Lip stood up, reached out a hand.

“Can’t,” Ian replied shortly. “Have to be here in case the nurse comes back with any more info.” 

“C’mon. We’ll be right outside that door.”

“No.” 

“Ian, they said it could be hours. You not gonna move from that spot until then?” 

“If that’s what it takes.” Ian finally looked up, eyes fiery and determined. After a moment of meeting with Lip’s, though, they softened. He sighed. “Fine.”

***

Mostly they smoked in silence. I mean, what are they going to talk about? The Sox starting lineup? As far as Ian was considered, there was nothing to discuss.

“So,” Lip said, breaking the silence. “You seem to be holding up pretty well, all things considered.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said. “There’s no reason to be worried, so why should I be upset?” He flicked some ashes away.

“That’s not what you said an hour ago.” 

“An hour ago I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was thinking like a husband.” He shrugged. “But I’m not just a husband. I’m Mickey Milkovich’s husband. And Mickey will be just fine.” He paused again. “Always is.” 

“Fair enough. I mean, you guys have been through some shit.”

“Yeah, no fuckin’ joke.” Ian chuckled, letting memories take him away from the hospital, just for a minute. “Like the time he got shot in the ass. Remember that, DCFS coming in while JimmySteve’s dad operated on him in the kitchen?”

“Oh, I try my best not to remember. Please tell me that’s the only time Mickey’s ass has been on that counter.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, man.” Ian laughed again. “Or there was the first time he got shot because of me, way back when I was still banging Kash.”

“Jesus, the kid must love you, all the hits he’s taken for your giant ginger ass.”

“Yeah, he really must.” Ian laughed one more time before his smile started to fade. “Yeah, yeah. He loves me a lot.” He went quiet for a minute. “Enough to get fucking killed.”

“Woah woah, Ian. I didn’t mean to--”

“No, it’s true. He got shot for me, twice. He went to prison for me, twice. He’s had the shit kicked out of him for me I don’t even know how many times. And now--now--”

Lip rushed over as Ian started to crack into pieces, clutching his brother--all six fucking feet of his not-so-little brother--to his chest. 

“I got him killed, Lip, they tried to kill him because of me--”

“That’s not because of you. Mickey’s gay, he would’ve been gay even if he never met you.”

“What if he dies, Lip? What if Mickey fucking dies? What if he’s fucked up for life? What if--”

“If he hasn’t died yet he’s not going to. Clearly someone still wants him around, right? After all this shit?”

“What if he never knows? That I love him just as much as he loves me?”

“Ian, he knows. I know he fuckin’ knows.” 

Lip stroked Ian’s hair and hushed him, wishing for the millionth time that day that Fiona was there. She would call Ian “sweetcheeks” and say all the right things like only a mother could; Lip was just a brother. What could a brother do? 

“Ian?” A voice piped up from the hospital doorway. They both looked up, Ian’s nose running down both of their shirts. It was Debbie. “They said you could see him now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and reminding me why I love this community so much! You guys are seriously the best and reading comments and other works about these dorks is sometimes what gets me through the day. Stay healthy everybody!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian finally gets to see Mickey, and Mick learns the difference between family and blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst, some worry, and some well-earned fluff. I hope you enjoy!

Mickey was asleep when Ian entered. Mickey didn’t have a room, just a curtain, but Ian hovered in the entrance anyway. Lip kept what he hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Go,” Lip said, giving Ian a small nudge. “I’ll be sitting right outside if you need me.” 

“Thanks,” Ian said. He smiled tightly at his brother, trying to pretend like he could breathe. Then he turned to his husband.

Mickey had never been a big guy. It was his personality that filled the room--that filthy mouth with its dry wit and Southside brand of intelligence; those expressive hands and eyebrows; the smell of cigarette smoke and Irish Spring that announced his every entry. Mickey had never needed broad shoulders or height to make his presence known. He was larger than life, because he fucking made it that way. 

Today, he looked very small. 

If Ian was honest with himself, which he wasn’t, he barely recognized his husband. Which was really saying something, considering his face was banged up more often than not. Under the bandages, tubes, stitches, bruises and needles, there was hardly any Mickey to see. His face was purple or yellow in more places than it was white. A trail of stitches dripped from his forehead, through an eyebrow and down his cheek, which Ian knew would leave a scar scarier than any tattoo Mickey had ever gotten. His lip was busted. He was propped just so to keep his broken ribs at just the right angle. Several of his fingers were taped together; Ian wondered if they’d been stepped on and instantly regretted the thought. 

It was all at odds with the calm look on Mickey’s sleeping face. It was a look that usually only Ian saw, between their bedroom walls. It made Ian sick to sick to see the two things put together--the gorgeous man his husband was, combined with the pulp Terry had tried to beat him into.

“He’ll probably sleep for a couple more hours,” the nurse’s voice cut into Ian’s thoughts. Ian hadn’t even realized she was in the room. He looked over at her. She seemed young, like a student. Ian cleared his throat, tried to answer her through his dry mouth. 

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“If he’s not up in a couple hours, we’ll wake him to test for memory loss and possible brain damage.” Brain damage. The word fell heavy, echoing, into Ian’s brain. Was he hearing static? Everything sounded like a lot of static. 

“Besides the obvious bruising and lacerations, he came in with broken ribs, broken fingers, internal bleeding from his liver, and blunt force trauma to the head. He’s pretty severely concussed, so he can’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time.” 

Oh, he’ll love that, Ian thought, for just a moment imagining the bitching that he was going to get from Mick. Then he looked over, saw Mickey, and remembered that not even that was guaranteed. What kind of world was it where you couldn’t count on Mickey Milkovich being difficult? Brain damage. Fuck. 

“It’s lucky he was brought in when he was,” the nurse chirped on. “If left untreated, the internal bleeding would have killed him.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Lip’s voice piped up from behind the curtain. “You can stop now.” 

“Right.” The young nurse looked down at her clipboard, uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you to him.” 

There was a chair next to the bed, so Ian sat down. His six foot frame was too big for the cramped “room”, if you could call it that. He looked fuckin ridiculous, and he knew Mick would tell him so, if he had been able. But he didn’t care. He wanted to reach out, touch Mickey’s skin. I mean fuck, he’d been dying to for hours. But he was afraid he’d hurt him, jostle something that was broken, wake him to the shit reality that he was going to be living in for the foreseeable future. He was afraid that he would hurt Mickey just by loving him. Just like he always had. 

“I don’t wanna say I told you so, Mick, but…” Ian’s voice caught a little as he tried to smile at his own sad joke. “I told you we shouldn’t’ve gotten married. I told you I wasn’t worth the trouble. Why the fuck do you think I’m worth all this trouble, huh? Worth getting killed over? Worth permanent brain damage, worth losing your memories for--”

“Mem’ries of you ‘er the only ones worth havin’, Gallagher,” came Mickey’s voice, weak and raspy. Ian’s heart stopped. “Ya fuckin’ sap.”

“Mickey?”

Mickey’s head turned slowly to face Ian, eyes fluttering open to slits. 

“The fuck happened?”

“Oh fuck, Mickey.” Ian fell forward, placing his hands on the sides of Mickey’s face, kissing his head as Mickey winced in pain.

“Jesus, I ain’t dead. Calm down,” he said, but Ian could hear the smile in Mick’s voice. “Alright, alright. I love you too, Gallagher.”

“Mickey, I--I--”

“Hey, he lives,” Sandy’s voice cut in. Ian looked up to see Sandy, Debby, Franny and Lip all standing in the doorway. 

“Uncle Mick got hurt,” Franny said, sucking her thumb absently.

“Hey, Little Red,” Mickey smiled weakly, then winced again. “Anyone wanna tell me what the fuck is goin’ on here? I get hit by a goddamn truck?” 

“Not a truck,” Sandy replied. “Just six nazis, give or take.” 

“Terry?”

“Who else?” 

“Cocksucker,” Mickey said limply, staring down at the broken fingers in his lap. Something in Ian told him that there was something Mickey wasn’t saying, but he mentally filed that away for later.

“Not gonna march out of here to find your shotgun?” Lip said.

“Yeah, well. Was bound to happen sooner or later. Might as well stick around and get the good drugs while I’m here.” He adjusted himself, face scrunching in pain again. “Maybe get some sleep without fifteen of you people bargin’ in day and night.” 

“You can’t sleep, Mick,” Ian said. “You’ve got a concussion.”

“The fuck? I get beat half to death and I don’t even get to fuckin’ sleep? The hell good is being in the hospital for if you don’t even get to sleep?” 

“Other people bring you popcorn shrimp in bed, that’s what.” Carl had appeared with the food. “Courtesy of Captain Bob, bitches.” 

“Hey, thanks, Carl,” everyone voiced their appreciation as they pulled out fish sandwiches and fries.

“Right, because you don’t bring home popcorn shrimp from that cougar boss of yours every damn day,” Mickey said, but he took the fish sandwich gratefully, if clumsily with his broken fingers. 

“No,” Ian said, taking Mickey’s sandwich out of his hands and biting into it himself. “You just woke up in the hospital, the last thing you need is to be eating this crap.”

“Oh what, and you do?”

“Fuck yes. I’ve been sitting around here all day waiting on you. I’m starving.”

“Eh, fuck all of you,” Mickey said. 

“Yeah, love you too, Mickey,” Lip said.

Soon the Gallaghers had stolen all the chairs from the surrounding rooms and were sitting around, bitching, bullshitting, placing bets on how long it would take Frank to come sniffing around Mickey’s drugs. Mickey couldn’t believe it. His blood had put him in here, but his family had come through. He looked over at Ian, squeezed his hand with the little strength he had. He’d just been beaten within an inch of his life, and everything hurt, but somehow, he felt like a pretty lucky bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! Your comments are so helpful and wonderful and I love this community so much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slowly recovering Mickey finds comfort in his husband, and Ian feels some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The update nobody asked for! This chapter gets a little angsty, but it's mostly fluff/comfort. Mostly I just wanted to add the next chapter, which was the first thing I wrote for this fic, because it makes me laugh. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy our boys getting up in their feelings! Thanks for anyone who's stuck around and read this far.

“Mick?” Ian whispered gently. 

No response. Ian smiled. It was late, and everyone else had long since gone home. Mickey was being sedated with enough drugs to knock even Frank on his ass, and no surprise, he’d conked out halfway through the episode of Maury they’d put on the ancient tube TV mounted in the corner of the room. Ian shifted down in the makeshift bed he’d constructed of chairs. Slung an arm over his eyes. He took comfort in the steady beeping of Mickey’s monitors, tried to let them lull him to sleep. 

“Ian?” a quiet voice said. Ian bolted up. 

“Mick? Is something wrong?” he said. Mickey smiled, eyes barely opening.

“Nah, man. I just need you to do something for me.”

“Doc said no more meds for another few hours--”

“Not that, Jesus. Is this what you feel like when I tell you to take your pills? Gimme a break, Nurse Gallagher.”

“Sorry,” Ian lifted Mickey’s hand to his mouth for a kiss. “What do you need?”

“Will you just--” Mickey hesitated. “Will you get in the bed with me? Feels weird, sleepin’ without you.” Ian smiled.

“You sure? It's gonna be pretty small with all your tubes and shit.”

“Oh, like we didn’t cram into that tiny ass thing you called a bed all those years ago? Just get in here.” Mickey looked down, still embarrassed asking for anything soft. Ian didn’t care, though. He climbed in happily, wrapping his arms carefully around his husband. Somehow, underneath all the antiseptic smells, Mickey still smelled like himself. 

“Thought I’d lost you there for a while,” he whispered into Mickey’s hair. 

“Bet you were real relieved,” Mickey joked. Ian couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“I dunno, I’m pretty young to be a widow.” 

“You’da been just fine. Could finally get you one of those sugar daddies you were always so fond of.”

“Damn, didn’t think about that. Maybe I should pull out some of these tubes…” Mickey gave Ian a playful slap, and the weakness of it compared to their usual wrestling made Ian’s chest clench. Fuck, things were different now. “I’m serious, though, Mick. I… I don’t know what I would’ve done if they’d killed you.”

“Twenty to life for murdering Terry?”

“Might do that anyway.”

“Yeah, well. That makes two of us. Old man is gonna regret not making sure I was dead.”

“Cause you’re really in a condition to be going after anyone.”

They were both silent for a minute, acutely aware of the heart monitor beeping that had comforted Ian so much just minutes ago. 

“I can’t believe I let them do this,” Ian said softly.

“What are you gonna do, protect me all the time? Hm, tough guy?” 

Yes, Ian thought, but didn’t say it. 

“We’re both here,” Mickey went on. “I’m safe. Haven’t had any seizures or anything yet. Be grateful, alright? I know I am.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re all doped up.”

“Yeah, so fuckin’ enjoy it before they wake me up in three hours and I get bitchy again.” 

Mickey nuzzled down further, as much as his broken body was able, into Ian. Ian curled around him like a shell, fighting the desperate urge to clutch Mickey to his chest and never loosen his hold. He’d almost died. He could have a seizure at any moment; they were still waiting on results from brain scans; so much was still up in the air. Ian had spent so many years living a life with a Mickey-shaped hole in it. He knew what that felt like, but somehow, even when he’d ended it, even when he’d left him in Mexico, he’d never really believed it was over. It was like the two of them were always on opposite ends of some cosmic tether, getting closer or further away from each other but always connected. For the first time, Ian had had to really face what it might mean for that connection to be broken. To be truly separated. It had shaken him, and the aftershocks were still coming. 

Ian reached up to run his fingers through Mickey’s dark hair, to feel the things that were still familiar. The things that made all this feel real. Mickey’s recovery, the fact that he had made it. Sure, he had new broken spots and bumps now. Where there used to be smooth skin, now there would be scars. But he was still, somehow, here, and still, somehow, Ian’s. And Mickey was right. That was all that mattered, really. 

“You’re the one who almost died,” Ian said, voice thick. “How are you the one comforting me?”

“Been carryin’ you for years, Gallagher.”

It was a joke, of course, but it was true. They turned out the lights, clicked off the TV. Mickey tucked himself into Ian, and Ian leaned on Mickey, and the steady beeps of the machines got slower and calmer as they both found sleep together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pissed-off Mickey Milkovich getting wheeled around by his husband is hilarious and I need to see it.

*One Week Later*

Seeing Mickey in a wheelchair was… something. His face was set into a Milkovich scowl to end all Milkovich scowls, his arms crossed, a cigarette pursed in his purple lips against doctor’s vehement wishes. He was wearing a sleeveless flannel open over a bare, heavily bandaged chest, his "Ian Galagher" tattoo poking up over the gauze. It almost would have been funny if it wasn’t so fucked. 

“You know, if you would’ve just let me kill the bastard when I wanted to, none of this would’ve fuckin’ happened,” Mickey grumbled as Ian pushed him out the hospital doors. 

“Yeah? You mad about how our wedding day turned out? Wish you would’ve spent it in a holding cell?” 

“Fuckin’ whatever,” Mickey mumbled, and Ian smiled. He’d be more annoyed with his husband, but he was just so fucking glad to hear the old Mickey come out. Mick could still bitch. And if he could bitch, that meant he was still himself. And that meant that Ian was the luckiest SOB on the South Side. 

“You know, since you’re technically an invalid--” Ian tipped the wheelchair in a playful threat, “I could just dump you out of this chair right now--” 

“Hey, try it, bitch. We’ll see how much of an invalid I am.”

“How about instead of calling me a bitch you thank me for wheeling your ass around, huh?”

Ian stopped pushing when he felt bandaged fingers on his hand. When he looked down, Mickey was looking up at him with that look. You know the one. 

“Hey,” he said softly. “I love you.”

Ian leaned down and gently kissed his husband’s fucked-up lips. He was smiling before he even pulled away.

“Yeah, I know.” He started wheeling them towards the L. “Of course, if you’d like to start referring to me as The Greatest Husband Ever, I could get used to that.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re pushin’ it, Gallagher…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who stuck this fic out til the fluffy end (if there's any of you left!) You are all wonderful and this community of dorks will get me through this quarantine. Much love always.


End file.
